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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23528110">The Swing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gray_autumn_sky/pseuds/gray_autumn_sky'>gray_autumn_sky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Happiness Can't Be Arranged [17]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Once Upon a Time (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:13:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,775</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23528110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gray_autumn_sky/pseuds/gray_autumn_sky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When her brothers all go skating, Charlotte feels left out. So, Robin (with a lot of help for John) plan a special afternoon for her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Happiness Can't Be Arranged [17]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1021440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Swing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Regina had been away for just under a week, and from the moment she and her father departed on their long trek back to Dragon Head to settle Cora's estate, he'd felt like everything around him was becoming unhinged. That first night she was away he wondered if she felt this way whenever he left to attend to business at Sherwood—if she did, she'd never mentioned it, yet nonetheless, he was overwhelmed with the urge to apologize.</p><p>That first night had truly been something else.</p><p>It rained and the cat got out, so Roland and Henry (along with Winston and two footmen) spent hours searching the woods for him, only to find him curled up on the back stoop where Mrs. Beakley took in deliveries. Because of the search, dinner was cold—and though Mrs. Beakley didn't say anything about it, her annoyance was clear. It also didn't help that Charlotte wasn't a fan of any of the dishes served that night. He was glad his five-year-old hadn't voiced her displeasure to the cook directly, she'd pushed the food around her plate with a pout and that caught the attention of her brothers—all of whom took the opportunity to point out her rudeness. Henry had been the most empathetic in suggesting she just eat little bit so that Mrs. Beakley's feelings weren't hurt, but Oliver insisted she shouldn't be allowed to have dessert if she didn't finish her meal—then, in a rare show of solidarity, Roland agreed and suggested he and Oliver should split the "extra" cup of pudding between themselves.</p><p>Then, when he'd attempted to step in and put his foot down to insist that Charlotte should eat some of the meal and her brothers had no right to her desert, they'd all turned on him, insisting he was playing favorites.</p><p>It was exhausting, and by the end of it, Charlotte was in tears and begging to be excused.</p><p>Robin spent the evening listening to her cry. Her big brown eyes were wide and teary, her jaw trembling as she stumbled through the same explanations over and over again—she didn't <em>mean </em>to be rude, she just didn't like lamb chops and the mint sauce that it was served with always made her nose run—and no matter what, she loved Mrs. Beakley's custard and was looking forward to it, until her brothers ruined it. Dramatically, her jaw quivered as she explained she might never be able to enjoy custard again.</p><p>At the time, he wondered if it'd been a fluke—just one bad evening at the start of a period of adjustment—but now he knew that it wasn't.</p><p>It seemed every day was something else.</p><p>The dog knocking over a favorite mixing bowl in the kitchen and tracking flour all over the house, petty squabbles between the boys, weather that puts a damper on someone's plans…</p><p>That day all three boys decided it was a perfect day to test out the new roller skates that Regina's father had bought them for Christmas—and truly, it was. It was warm but not hot, sunny with a light breeze, and Winston had just finished laying down some wooden planks over the trail that led to the orchard. Mrs. Potter smiled at the idea, and Mal praised Henry and Roland for wanting to include their younger brother.</p><p>Then, as they left, he couldn't help but notice Charlotte sitting at the top of the stairs, pouting. He frowns as they make eye contact, but as soon as he starts up the steps, she takes off running—and before he reaches the top of the stairs, he hears her bedroom door slam.</p><p>Charlotte hadn't been invited, and no one had considered asking the boys to let her tag along. It didn't matter that she didn't have skates of her own or that she was probably too little to learn, she likely just wanted to be included.</p><p>"They <em>never </em>invite me," she says as soon as Robin opens the door. "It's not fair!"</p><p>Robin sighs.</p><p>That was true—Charlotte rarely was included in her brother's games. For the longest time, the Locksley children were always seen in pairs—the two older ones and the two younger ones, joined at the hip. But now that Oliver was a bit older, Henry and Roland had started to ask him along whenever they went out to play. He was sturider now and had started riding lessons. He'd taken up archery, too, and much to Roland's chagrin, he was getting better and better by the day, picking the skill up quickly. He was learning German and often spent his evenings being tutored by Henry to try to catch up to the older boys, and he was proving to be just as skilled in mathematics as Henry was at his age. Oliver, who'd always been such a sweet and shy little boy, had a quiet competitiveness about him, and every time Henry and Roland gave him any attention at all, that competitiveness seemed to kick up a notch or two. He took pride in it and was delighted. He wanted to be like them.</p><p>Truthfully, Robin was glad for it, too. He was happy to see his older sons embracing their younger brother.</p><p>Charlotte, on the other hand, was not happy.</p><p>She'd gotten used to Oliver attending her tea parties and playing with her dolls—and of course, she was just as happy to play games that he liked, too. She played tag or hide-and-seek with him in the garden, ran all over the house with him on their hobby horses, and relished in just the opportunity to beat him in card games or jacks.</p><p>But now, she was on her own.</p><p>And she hated it.</p><p>"They didn't even <em>ask </em>if I wanted to go."</p><p>"Did you want to go?"</p><p>Charlotte frowns and hangs her head, her big blue bow drooping forward to cover the top of her head. "I don't have skates."</p><p>"You're too little for—"</p><p>"I'm <em>always </em>too little!"</p><p>Robin frowns. That was an excuse they gave her often—and really, Oliver was only a year older, so even he wondered how much truth was in that particular excuse. Maybe it was just the easy thing to say.</p><p>"Well, maybe <em>you </em>could do something without <em>them</em>."</p><p>Charlotte looks up, and it's clear that she likes that idea. Her smile makes him smile—and then he realizes he doesn't have a plan and knowing his daughter, she'll demand one.</p><p>"Today!? Can we do that today?"</p><p>"Sure," he says, nodding, his eyes searching the room for something that'll spark an idea. "Why not?"</p><p>Charlotte leaps from her bed, casting away a picture book that had been hidden in the skirt of her dress as she runs to him. Bending, he scoops her up, grinning at her as she links her arms around his neck. "We'll brag about it at dinner!"</p><p>He laughs. "Yeah, we'll really rub it in."</p><p>"Yeah!"</p><p>Taking a breath, he kisses her forehead. "I'll send in Mal to get you changed."</p><p>Charlotte's eyes widen with excitement. "I'll need a special outfit?"</p><p>Robin laughs and nods. Really, he has no idea. "Well, you know, something you won't mind getting muddy—or rather, Mal and your mother wouldn't mind you getting muddy."</p><p>Charlotte nods, her little face turning serious as she considers it—then, something sparks in her eyes and she wiggles herself free to run to her wardrobe.</p><p>And that's when his eyes settle on the painting above the mantle—a terribly expensive oil painting done by Jean-Honore Fragonard—that his father had sent to her for her first birthday.</p><p>He remembers the day it arrived. It was huge and wrapped in brown paper and stamped with the words "Handle with Care." He and Regina opened it carefully and when they saw the painting, they exchanged looks of confusion. It was adorned in a gaudy gold frame and showed a young woman on a swing, kicking up her legs and showing her stockings as a young man laid on the grass looking up at her adoringly. He wondered if it was appropriate for a little girl while Regina wondered if it would even fit in Charlotte's nursery.</p><p>They'd hung it up in another room and decided that if and when his father came to visit they'd explain that they were saving it for when Charlotte was older—when she could really appreciate it and know better than to touch it and possibly ruin it. His father had been more than satisfied with that reply; and then, when Charlotte was about three, she'd discovered the painting for herself—and she'd absolutely fallen in love with it.</p><p>"Pick something out and wait for Mal, alright? Then when she's done dressing you, we'll be off!" Charlotte giggles excitedly as she throws open the wardrobe's doors and he steals one last glimpse of the painting before excusing himself.</p><p>"John!" he calls out, just as soon as he's out of Charlotte's earshot. "John, where are you?"</p><p>John pops his head out of a room. "You bellowed?"</p><p>"Do you know how to make a swing?"</p><p>"A swing—"</p><p>"Yeah, you know... rope, a wooden plank for a seat, hang it from a tree branch... you know, a swing!"</p><p>John's brows arch. "It sounds like <em>you </em>know how to make a swing."</p><p>"Yes, but I don't have time." John's eyes narrow. "I promised Charlotte a surprise—"</p><p>John's expression changes. "She wants a swing?"</p><p>Robin nods and fills him in—and before he's even done explaining, John is cleaning up his mending so that he can head out to the orchard to build the swing for the youngest Locksley.</p><p>Once John leaves, he finds Mal tucked away in her room reading what looks like Henry's writing journal and making notations in the margins.</p><p>"Your oldest has quite the imagination," she muses as he knocks his knuckles against the open frame.</p><p>"Well, I hope my valet does, too."</p><p>Mal's brow furrows. "What?"</p><p>"I… just sent John off to make a swing for Charlotte in the orchard."</p><p>"A swing—"</p><p>"Yes, like the one in the painting in her room."</p><p>"Did she request that?" She laughs, but looks unsurprised at the possibility.</p><p>"Not exactly. It's… a surprise," Robin says. "It was the first thing that came to my mind. She's feeling pretty left out these days, so I wanted to give her something special."</p><p>"You know, you could've just taken her for a ride on your horse or taken her into town and let her buy something pretty." Robin frowns. Neither of those things had occurred to him, and both would have been easier. "But a swing is sweet—and she'll love it. The higher you can push her, the better." Robin laughs as Mal's brow cocks. "But be careful. She's a little daredevil. I guarantee she'll jump off that swing and give you a heart attack, if she can."</p><p>"Oh…" his laugh fades, "She would do that, wouldn't she?"</p><p>Mal laughs and nods as she closes Henry's book. "Do you need me to change her?"</p><p>"Yes, into something…"</p><p>"... that can get muddied up."</p><p>"Exactly. Thanks, Mal," Robin says as he begins to back out of the room as Mal rises. "I'm going to go see if I can scrounge up a picnic lunch for us to share."</p><p>Twenty minutes later, he finds his daughter waiting by the door. She's wearing an old dress with a cream colored pinafore over it and an old pair of scuffed up boots. Mal also fixed her hair, pulling her dark curled locks into two tight braids.</p><p>"Look at you!"</p><p>Charlotte beams. "Is this outfit ap... appro…" She scrunches her face and lets out a little growl as she struggles with the word. "Is it…"</p><p>"Appropriate?"</p><p>"Yes," she sighs, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I picked it myself."</p><p>"Well, it's perfect," he tells her as he reaches for her hand and leads her to the door. "Especially those boots."</p><p>Together, they walk to the orchard, taking the longer path to buy John a little more time and hopefully avoid seeing Henry, Roland, and Oliver on their skates.</p><p>Though Charlotte hates when her brothers leave her out, Robin's glad to have some one-on-one time with his youngest. She chatters on excitedly trying to guess what her surprise is and questions him about what's in the picnic basket, practically squealing when he admits to stealing a few of Mrs. Beakley's meringue cookies for them to share. She tells him that she thinks she has a new favorite color—periwinkle—and informs him that Mal said that she's old enough to start some lessons—piano and German—and she confesses she's determined to be better at both subjects than all her brothers by the end of the year.</p><p>When they arrive at the fork in the road, he hesitates, pretending not to know which way to go, and he laughs when Charlotte grows impatient, tugging him down the correct path as she tells him she knows the way because she can smell the apples—a detail Regina's also noted as they wandered through the woods.</p><p>Then as soon as they arrive, she stops abruptly and a little gasp escapes, followed by a squeal—then before he can even look up, Charlotte takes off running toward the swing.</p><p>"Papa! Papa, look at the flowers! Aren't they pretty, Papa?"</p><p>He smiles and follows her, taking in the swing. It's made from a wagon wheel, the spokes all removed, the frame of the wheel tied to a high branch with a study rope.</p><p>Really, that's all he'd asked for—a simple swing.</p><p>But John cut down some of the wild vines that grew up the side of the mill and twisted them around the rope, and between the twists, he'd stuck in apple blossoms, weaving them into the rope so that they'd stay in place. But the best part wasn't the swing, but the little flower crown tied to it. It was made from ribbons and vines, and was embellished with the same apple blossoms that adorned the swing.</p><p>Carefully, Charlotte reaches for it, holding it up into the sunlight and looking at it as a smile spreads across her face, lighting up her eyes.</p><p>On most days, John hid his preference well; but he'd always had a soft spot for Charlotte and this was one of the times it was incredibly apparent.</p><p>"Put it on."</p><p>Charlotte nods, carefully examining it once more and rubbing her fingers over the petals of one of the blossoms before lifting it over her head. "I feel like a princess," she whispers as she lowers it to her head.</p><p>"And now you look like one," he tells her, gently pushing her toward the swing. "Now, let's try this thing out!"</p><p>Charlotte doesn't need to be told twice.</p><p>A bit awkwardly, she climbs onto the swing, careful not to let her crown fall. Robin makes sure she's steady on the wheel, then ties the ribbons into her braids before giving her a little push.</p><p>He pushes her again and again and each time she laughs, and each time, the swing goes higher. "Faster, Papa!" she calls out, "Make it go faster!"</p><p>And he does.</p><p>For more than an hour, he pushes her and for more than an hour, her laugh rings out through the orchard. He twists the swing and makes her spin, ducks beneath her which makes her scream, and he laughs with her until his cheeks and chest hurt.</p><p>They settle together on a blanket for a picnic lunch of watercress sandwiches and the meringue cookies. As expected, Charlotte does most of the talking. She jumps from subject to subject, telling him about how she thinks she wants to be a painter when she grows up and wants to have her own garden and a cat of her own. She asks him about Dragon Head and giggles when he describes it as "creepy." She doesn't spend long on that topic—nor any other—and quickly jumps to describing what she wants her future horse to look like—a white one that she'll call Petunia. Not once do her brothers or their skates come up.</p><p>When lunch is over he asks if she's ready to go back home—and just as he expects, she shakes her head and scrambles to her feet, running back to the swing, the ribbons from her crown flying behind her.</p><p>"Again, Papa!" Charlotte calls out. "Let's play some more!"</p><p>Robin gets up and nods, jogging toward the swing—even if he wanted to say no, he wouldn't.</p>
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